Slàinte
by Em Ash
Summary: With Barney, it's always scotch." Post The Leap


There isn't a lot that I won't drink.

When I'm by myself, or with Lily, a glass of red wine is perfect. Unwind, gossip, swirl the flavors around in my mouth. Maybe there's a bite sometimes, a sharp berry hidden in the grapes. But mostly it's smooth and easy.

And if I'm just having a quick drink at the bar, beer is fine. It's quick and cheap, easy to toast with and laugh over.

But with Barney, it's always scotch.

Whether it's at the cigar club or at the bar, even if I think I'm just going to have a beer and leave, he gives me that smile. It's kind of a dare, a "c'mon Scherbatsky, you're better than that. Drink with me." And how can I say no?

Guys like a girl who can drink scotch. At college, I was that girl surrounded by a circle of frat guys, pounding back tequila and whiskey without a chaser, without even a wince at the taste. And a girl who can drink and is willing to lick salt of some dude's neck? Everyone wants her at their party.

So the first time Barney ordered me a scotch, I thought that's what it was. Just a small challenge, to see if I could handle it.

And I could. He ordered two single malt scotches on the rocks, and of course I had to jump in and request just a splash of water each, instead of the ice. Wendy looked at Barney, as if to get his approval, and he just nodded. I could tell he thought I was crazy, but when our drinks came, we clinked the glasses together, and I watched his face as I took the first long swallow.

When you take your first sip, it's almost like water. Not cold, not warm, just there, on the tip of your tongue. Then you get the first sharp stings, the sharp bite you can't get from any other drink. Most people don't get past that first moment. They make a face, spit it out, swear they're sticking with beer from then on. So I watched Barney's face, and I knew when he felt the bite on his tongue, and then, just a hint of smoke. For a moment you think of campfires, and then you swallow. If it's a bad scotch, or too cold, it'll burn a little and you'll want a full glass of water. But if it's good, then it's just a slow warm slide down the back of your throat, down your chest, to settle comfortably in your stomach. It's not like beer or wine though, when you take a sip and you're ready for the next one. Scotch you need to think about it a little bit more. You feel it a little bit more.

That first night, we both put our glasses down and he smiled and nodded. "Nicely done Sherbatsky." I nodded back, accepting the compliment, and we settled in with our drinks and smiles.

I should have known then that I'd never be able to grab a beer with him again.

If I was late meeting up with everyone, there'd be a drink waiting there when I arrived. He always ordered different types of scotch, and I never asked what it was before I took a sip. But sometimes in the middle of a completely unrelated conversation, I'd just say "Johnny Walker Blue" or "Four Roses" and he's smile and half lift his glass in a toast, acknowledging that I guessed right. Everyone else would just roll their eyes and drink their beer, but my scotch always tasted better after I had correctly guessed what it was.

With Barney, scotch is as much as a prop as it is a drink. He knows exactly how smug he looks when he leans back in the recliner at the club, glass in one hand, cigar in the other. He looks rich and successful, as if he doesn't have a single damn concern. And he's the first to admit it. When I asked him why scotch? Why not obscure British ales or Mexican tequilas? He just laughed and said, "Scotch is awesome. It looks awesome, it tastes awesome and someone as awesome as me clearly needs a signature drink as awesome as scotch."

With Barney, it's almost always about the image first.

But not always.

The first time we slept together, he had pushed the scotch away from me. Telling me I had had enough. When we walked out of the bar, he took my hand that had been holding the glass in his. The last drops of cold condensation pressed into his warm palm and evaporated.

After the first time we kissed because we meant it, after the incident with Missy the Goat, we went to the bar, just the two of us. We weren't talking about, like ignoring the kiss would make it go away. So when we ordered the drinks and he started to talk about work, I couldn't help but giggle a little. It was so stupid, sitting in the booth, talking about work like nothing had changed when obviously everything had changed. So I giggled, and when he looked at me disapprovingly, I started to laugh. And eventually he couldn't pretend ignorance any longer and laughed so hard into his glass that he snorted and scotch sprayed all over the table.

So we made our way laughing upstairs into the apartment and when I kissed him he tasted familiar and smoky, with just a little bit of bite.

And so the first time we had sex (and it counted) we were smiling over spilled scotch. When I wrapped us up in my sheet and we walked into the kitchen, he put his hand over mine right when I reached the good stuff.

"To hell with Johnnie," he said. "Tonight we need champagne."

It's been a few days since we curled up on my bed with champagne, and we're sitting in the booth with the rest of the gang. Barney ordered his drink on the rocks, and keeps clinking the ice against the glass. I think it's partly to annoy me, partly a nervous tic. He raises his eyebrows at me, but I just smile and sip my drink. He's waiting for me to say something; we agreed that we should tell our friends about our…well, relationship, I guess.

I figure Ted at least must know already. After all, Barney has been over almost every night. There have been one or two things that Ted must have heard.

Barney is practically vibrating, waiting for Lily to finish her story about some student who keeps kissing the girls. He doesn't even ask to become the kid's mentor, and his silence has Lily looking at me questioningly.

I may not be as visibly nervous as Barney, but I can feel my heart somewhere in my throat. I break into the conversation, barely giving Lily a chance to finish her story.

"Barney and I are sleeping together."

Barney looks at me and sighs. "Smooth, Sherbatsky. Very subtle."

Lily lets out a little squeal and hugs me as Marshall claps Barney on the back.

"It's about time," he says.

We look at Ted, who's stuck sitting bitch at the end of the table. Lily still has her arm around me, and I can tell she's waiting for Ted's reaction before she lets me go.

He takes a long sip of his beer. "Well, I definitely knew you were sleeping together. Neither of you are exactly quiet."

I see Barney open his mouth, about to make some dirty joke. I kick him with my high heeled shoe and his mouth snaps shut so quickly that it would be funny if I didn't feel like I was waiting for my dad's approval to go on a date in eighth grade.

Ted looks right at me. "Are you fucking, or are you guys together? Because if it's just about sex than I'm not sure I'm – "

"We're together," Barney cuts in. His voice is so firm that even I can't help but stare at him. He reaches out to holds my hand across the table. He glances at Ted, who leans back in his chair with an almost resigned sigh.

Barney's look is questioning. We've never had this conversation, but I feel myself start to smile.

"Yeah. We're together."

Lily gives me one final squeeze and Marshall lets out a cough that sounds suspiciously like it might be covering tears. Barney lets go of my hand with a grin, and Ted clears his throat.

"Well, good for you guys," he says. He lifts his bottle of beer. "Might as well drink a toast – to Barney and Robin. God help us all."

"I'll drink to that," I laugh.

We all clink our glasses together. After I take a sip, Barney winks at me and I know that the warmth in my stomach is not just from the scotch.


End file.
